


Begin Again

by Mariss95



Series: In another life [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Coffee, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariss95/pseuds/Mariss95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Oliver is a college professor and Felicity his student</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. begin again

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes another one-shot, this time AU, inspired by this prompt an anon sent on tumblr:  
> “Oliver is a college professor and felicity a student”  
> Hope you like it!

College was turning out better that she had predicted, and she had expected a lot. Her knack with computers was celebrated rather than laugh upon, like it had been on high school. Sure, it was the first week of the second semester but the next four years looked really promising. Everything was going exactly as she thought it would, this semester looking as uncomplicated as the last.

That was until Friday came along, and with it Criminology class.

She had been looking forward to it and took a seat at the front row, as she usually did. This was the hardest class in her program but she was quite certain she would pass it with flying colors if she paid attention.

Still as the doors opened and a handsome man who didn’t look older than thirty settled at the professor’s desk she was rendered speechless. He had striking features, slight stubble and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. And then he spoke, a warm, deep voice that was as entrancing as his gaze.

 _Oliver Queen_. She had heard of him, having even read one of his books about profiling the year before, so she already had an admiration for the man, even when he was simply a name in a worn-out book. But she didn’t know he looked like _that_. He didn’t look like a writer, professor or a detective, not even like the attractive ones on TV; he was even better.

He had begun to explain the material they would be working with, which she had already bought and started to go through, so she allowed herself to study him instead. His velvety voice filled her ears sending warmth all through her body. There was something deeply captivating in the way he carried himself around the room, with an ease and confidence, without being cocky. She noticed his hands, large but controlled, his movements paced but deliberate. She looked down at her own hands, thinking of how small they were in comparison.

She was startled as everyone started moving, the sound of books and bags opening filled the air. The lesson was starting. She shook herself awake from her daydreaming and took out her laptop, putting all her effort on paying attention to what he was saying and not the way his lips moved.

It had been an invigorating hour. He was even smarter than she thought from his book, his insights and thought process deeply interesting. She found herself smiling at his comments, titillated by the way he wove a thread of sentences, one remarkable thought after another. A few times she got lost in his eyes, in the swift way his thin lips moved breathing out word after word; so much so that she neglected to take notes at times, struggling to catch up with his rapid pacing when she realized she had dozed off on him.

He was going over the first chapter of their text book, asking questions as he went through the topics, and answering them himself, not expecting anyone to know the answers. That’s when she had let it slip out.

Her eyes darted through the screen, fingers rapidly tapping the keys to write down everything he had said when suddenly the room went silent. She looked up and found his blue eyes fixed on her. A quick look around revealed almost everyone else was staring at her as well.

“That is correct,” he said, eyes wide open, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh no. Did I say that out loud?” she muttered, more to herself. She heard a chuckle to her side, as panic rose within her. Her brain had the terrible habit of making her voice her thoughts, even before she could process what was happening.

“What’s your name?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the angry stares that were thrown her way.

“Felicity. Smoak,” she stuttered, not sure if due to being in the spotlight or to those blue eyes locked on hers.

“Felicity,” he repeated, as if savoring her name. It sure sounded better in his husky voice. He gave her a warm smile and then turned to the rest of the class, getting their attention again. “Seems like someone has paid attention. What Miss Smoak here said means…” he went on as she sank into her seat, wishing she was invisible, but at the same time relishing in the fact he now knew her name.

 

The rest of the lesson flew by, his speech entrancing her in a way few professors could do. She had put away her stuff and was walking up the stairs when a familiar voice made her stop in her tracks.

“Miss Smoak?” he called out. She turned around and silently approached him when he signaled her with his hand.

“Felicity,” she breathed, the words leaving her lips before she could stop them.

“Sorry?” an inquisitive eyebrow raised at her.

“Felicity is better. Miss Smoak makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

Oliver chuckled under his breath.

“Felicity then,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “You’ve been doing the readings advised on the programs, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied mechanically and winced when it dawned on her. _Sir? Way to make him feel old._

He simply grinned broadly, amused by her humor. “What are you majoring in?”

“Computer forensics,” she stated. He raised his eyebrows at her answer.

“Normally computer forensics choose Homested’s class over mine. He is certainly more lenient than I am.”

“Well, I like a challenge,” she said flirtatiously, surprised at how easy the words rolled off her lips. A pregnant pause followed her answer as both felt tension fill the air.

“Good” he broke the silence, blue eyes fixed on hers. “I’m looking forward to see what you got”. The intensity of this stare coupled with his gravelly voice made her shiver. His eyes darkened, if she had to say. “You were great today.”

“Thank you, eh…” she hesitated, searching for the right way to approach this.

“Oliver,” he exhaled, raising a hand for her to shake. “Call me Oliver”. She looked at his open palm for a few seconds, the one she had been studying just a mere hour before, and then raised her own giving him a steady shake. She was right; her hand looked tiny and dainty enveloped in his callous one, still it felt like the perfect fit.

“It was great to finally meet you,” she whispered, drawing her hand back, missing his warmth instantly.

“Finally?” he quipped.

She froze, trying to find a way to phrase her answer without sounding like a stalker. “I read one of your books last year; the one on profiling. I was looking forward to meeting you when I signed on this class. I loved the book, just didn’t know you were going to be like this.” At his raised eyebrow she went on, words tripping from her mouth. “I mean, I didn’t know what you looked like or anything. I have the habit of not researching on authors. If you ask me it ruins the illusion. One time I met my childhood hero and she turned out to be terribly disappointing. Not that you have, or that I believe you will, because you were great!” she finished, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks.

“Well I hope I don’t disappoint you then,” he quipped, a smile tugging up his lips. She sighed, gladly surprised to see he seemed amused by her rambling.

A silent minute stretched between them as both hesitated what to do next. Felicity made the choice, knowing if she stayed in his presence any longer she would surely further embarrassed herself.

“I should go.”

“You should. It was nice meeting you, Felicity,” he said and gave her a warm smile. He was handsome all the time, but right then she decided a smiling Oliver Queen was her favorite.

“You too, Oliver,” she breathed, liking the way his name rolled off her tongue.

She walked away, trying to return her breathing to a normal rhythm, goose bumps still on her skin. Oliver stood by his desk smiling, his eyes trained on her until she disappeared through the door.  

Neither able to foreshadow what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, encouragement or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated :)
> 
> If you guys have any suggestions or things you would like to see in this verse let me know and they may end up in the story, if/when I manage to expand it, as is the plan.  
> Again, thank you so much for your support! Your comments are really encouraging :)


	2. absentmindedly making me want you

Felicity picked a crisp fry from the basket, dipping it in her milkshake before plopping it in her mouth. 

She had to admit, she’d been a bit hesitant at first to go grab lunch with him, but hey everyone in the class –well, everyone that actually showed up to the extra-curricular field trip really– passed on the offer.  
It’s not her fault they were still a bit intimidated by Oliver’s toughness and stoic manner. Thankfully, she’d gotten used to it, or seen right through the shield he used to get the best out of his students for what it was, instead of a reflection of his actual persona. Hours discussing papers and emails shared about the class made the silent man sitting in front of her more human than myth; though, unfortunately, that only further piqued her interest.

“So…,” she said, grabbing his attention –oblivious of already having it, constantly–, “if you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up teaching?”

“I thought if it was on the internet you could find it.”

“Don’t doubt it for a second. But I felt it’d be a bit weird, for you I mean.”

He smiled, in that side-way of his that definitely didn’t take her breath away. And he paused, as usual, looking down while collecting his thoughts.

One of the endless things Felicity had learnt about Oliver Queen through these past two months was that he always spoke his truth, in delicately evasive ways sometimes, but still he didn’t say things just to fill a silence. Yet, as thought-through and careful as his voiced words were, his mannerisms and body language spoke volumes.

Trying to get a read on those had become a favorite past-time of hers.

“I had a great professor once,” he finally said. “Taught me a lot about character and life and,” he paused again, this time his brow furrowed and the downward look was followed by his thumb rubbing motion.

One she had came to realize meant he was struggling. To pick what to say, how to make it appropriate to whoever listened without revealing too much about himself.

“You don’t have to. I’m sorry I asked.”

“No, it’s... It’s okay,” Oliver said at last. Taking a deep breath, and looking into her eyes, he let her in.

“After I graduated I worked my way to a junior detective. So did my best friend, Tommy. We’d done everything together, since kindergarten, the good and bad through college too.”

“You did ‘bad’?,” Felicity quipped before she could help herself. The way the corner of Oliver’s mouth lifted ever so slightly, some light coming back into his clear eyes, showed her his gratefulness.

“Oh you wouldn’t have liked me in college. At least not the first two.” 

“Two?” She asked in mild shock, the subdued and thoughtful man sitting in front of her not quite fitting the description. 

“Jackson Krapowsky? That guy’s a paperweight compared to what I was,” he added with mirth, referring to his class’ troublemaker, an edge to his voice that spoke of much more than he voiced. Her smiled widened at the unfolding riddle that was Oliver Queen.

A beat passed as she wondered and reveled in the way this newfound intimacy didn’t deter from the lightness and teasing nature of the relationship they’d built up to that day.

Strictly platonic relationship. That should and probably _needed_ to stay so. But what was the harm in peeking a little bit more into the real him?

“And Tommy? Was he as _bad_ as you were?”, she offered, picking at her fries once again.

“Worse,” he added, his smile tainted with sadness. “Still he could make everything work in his life, without losing who he was.”

_Was._

The silence that followed was heavy, Oliver’s eyes lost in the distant yet surely painfully-present memories he was sharing with her.

“He was shot on the field... I got there just before he was gone.”

Without thought, Felicity reached out to him; a silent comfort, a mere touch. Her hand lay over his fist on the table, lightly holding him and giving everything words couldn’t right then.

His eyes set on her touch, and for once she couldn’t read him at all.

She hesitated, just beginning to ease her hand back when he shook her world again. Oliver’s palm turned upwards, cradling hers in the gentlest of holds, effectively taking her breath away. 

Felicity stole a glance at his face, a needed ease engulfing her at the small smile now on his lips. His thumb beginning to lightly caress the back of her hand as his voice picked up; warm, gentle.

“Diggle, my professor, found me then. He had taught us both back in college number three. He helped me get on my feet again. And, somehow, I found my way here.”

There was a newfound quietness after he told his truth, blue eyes meeting in understanding and support.

“I’m glad you did,” she said, widening his beautiful smile to mirror hers.

“And you?” Oliver voiced in his softest voice yet.

“My father,” Felicity offered, taking solace in the warmth of his hand still enveloping hers. “He worked for the bureau as a computer expert. He taught me a lot, for as long as he was with us.”

“I’m sorry. Is he–”

“–dead? I don’t know honestly. He was working undercover when I was thirteen, and one day they just lost communication with him. Stopped reporting back and never showed up again.”

She was suddenly very interested in the bottom of her empty milkshake, her finger absentmindedly tracing the edges of the glass.

“So yeah,” Felicity picked up, “gone. He’s been turned, cover blown, dead, in hiding. It’s anyone’s guess. Was mine for a very long time.”

“Was?,” Oliver asked, somehow the past in their lives driving them together now.

“Yeah. A part of me is still holding onto that answer. I hate mysteries, they bug me,” she muttered scrunching her nose in a way that made his smile widen. “But I’ve also come to realize that if he were in fact alive, and wanted us to know so, he would’ve found a way. A loose code for me to trace, a breadcrumb to follow. Maybe he will someday. At least it drove me to computers,” she chuckled trying to lighten the mood. 

Still the look of understanding on Oliver’s face, coupled with the mindless patterns he kept drawing against the tender skin of her hand, let her know she didn’t really need to hide. He was there, he was real.

“It’s what got you onto this path,” he said, catching her eyes.

“For better or for worse.”

There was finality in her words, as she tried to bury the longing that train of thought usually brought her.

“Well, for what is worth,” he said, with a single sentence filling the hollowness that overcame her whenever she really thought about her past, “I’m glad you did.”

Gratefulness shined brightly in her eyes and wide smile, one he thankfully mirrored together with a little nod.

It still surprised her how he could bring levity into a situation as easily as he did, without undermining the person’s thoughts and emotions. The person he was on the classroom was even more fascinating up close.

She’d always shouldered the responsibility to be funny when things got tense or intense, as it were. And, as she blushed under Oliver’s gaze, her heart warmed at the feeling of having him there being that for her too.

“Can I offer you two another drink?” the waitress cut in, effectively leading their moment to an end.

Felicity gently pulled her hand away, bursting the intimacy built that should’ve been overwhelming. She cleared her throat, the pretty useless mantra of ‘ _he’s your professor, he’s your professor_ ’ dutifully playing on her head on a loop.

“Coffee,” Oliver’s voice burst through her inner turmoil. “One black. And one latte?,” he asked looking at her. Yet he knew her coffee order well. From the first time she’d shown up at this office, to review her paper for the third time, with two steaming cups because “I’m taking you out of bed early, I might as well make it worthwhile– and that was _definitely_ not what I meant!”. To the meeting at Starbucks they had to make due to the power being out at campus. And that one time he passed her a cup on the hallway before class arguing “You were up late again last night,” adding a smug “I got your email at 3am” at her look of confusion.

Coffee had become a casual way of acknowledging each other, maybe a way to say ‘thank you’, and even a timid ‘I care’. So Oliver Queen definitely knew her coffee preferences.

The question aimed at her was an out.

To go. Get out. Swim back to surface and break away from what was brewing between them. The shy vulnerability in his features whispered his wish for her to stay, apprehension over wrong or right losing the battle against unspoken feelings.

“Yes,” Felicity decidedly said, not breaking his gaze.

The corner of Oliver’s mouth curved upwards, momentarily drawing her attention from his hypnotic gaze to the mole right over his top lip.

Nope, Felicity. _He’s your professor._

Yet that feeble line between them had stretched close to a breaking point. All that was left was to kept fighting it or surrendering to what laid ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!_  
>  So after quite a while I found myself back in this ‘verse. I’ve learnt not to make promises of more, so I’ll keep this story marked as complete.  
> Still, if you have any ideas or things you’d want to see with this story, please let me know. It may lead to something or maybe spark more ideas too.  
> Regardless of the future, pretty please show some love somehow. Feedback of any kind would be lovely and greatly appreciated. Words cannot express how much it means knowing somebody reads or remotely cares.  
> xo, Lucy.


	3. up in your room and our slates are clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is set in an undisclosed future  
> more of their journey will be written and posted in between

His eyes are still lost on the bathroom door she disappeared through ten minutes ago when she walks out. White bathrobe hanging loose around her frame, leash barely cinching her waist, as she runs her fingers through her wet locks.

Blonde hair dangles around her smiling face, clear and sweat- free –as he’s barely known for the last eighteen hours–, but just as carefree as usual.

She hums, a deep, satisfied noise –not unlike the ones he’s been remembering just then–, and walks around the room, the light gleam of a cloudy morning framing her perfectly.

“You have a great shower. I really needed that.”

He hums in return, eyes glued to her every move as she takes her first real look around. Her hands keep brushing her hair back, her lips softly filling the room with her warmth.

“That foam soap smells heavenly. Like peaches. I’m glad there was something else than your woodsy scented thing, ‘cause don’t get me wrong, I love it on you, but the whole point of showering was getting rid of the whole you and us thing on me. Not that I–”

“I know,” he breathes at last, arm outstretched, silently reaching out to her.

She eyes it for a moment, then scrunches up her little nose and wanders away, decidedly focusing on something else, anything else.

“My sister brought it over. She complained about it when she stayed over, and fixed it.”

“Huh,” she mutters, and the barest of tension she had left in her body slips aways. She’d thought it was someone else’s.

“Well, I’m thankful. Smelling like you would’ve been too distracting today.”

“Good distracting or–”

She eyes him across the room, a raised eyebrow and side smile saying _both_ ; just like she is for him. 

Holding her gaze and softening his voice, he says “Why don’t you stay then?”

“And lose myself further in Oliver-land?” Her fingers untangle themselves from his curtain then, eyes wandering around as she walks closer. “As great as that sounds, I have things to do. That I actually should’ve been doing yesterday, and last night, and–”

“–right now?”

And damn if the smirk on her lips doesn’t look as great now as it was neatly covered in bright pink lipstick the day before.

“Yes. Though now I have brunch time. With other people, outside of Oliver-land.”

He honest to god groans, eliciting a chuckle as she grows nearer still, the softness of her everything not dimming her mirth.

“You’re greedy.”

“I am.” He’s unashamed to admit to her. He shouldn’t want this, let alone have it, but has grown pliant and weak to how being together feels like.

And with the pull of her eyes, he stands up at last, the sheet falling forgotten to the bed as he lunges to her –uninhibited, fearless even, unguarded as he’s getting used to be with and for her–.

An arm circles her waist, bringing her forward to him; the other angles her face to silence her ‘oh’ of surprise with his mouth.

She hums against him, her body reacting to his willingly, closing the distance, pulling and pressing until there’s no air between them. He could kiss her forever.

Eighteen hours or not, Felicity Smoak has such a hold on him, that once relinquished, his want can’t be quenched. He hasn’t known this feeling before; of being this lost on another person, and enjoying it.

And so he gives in, taking a step backwards and taking her with him, until the back of his knees feel the mattress. Letting go of her waist he sits back, opening his eyes to her breathtakingly ravaged appearance.

Still glowing and soft, her lips tender and reddened, she fingers her hair away from her face once more. It’s perfection. 

She’s everything to make him feel, and long, and want. In the flicker of her eyes as they look down at him, patiently holding on yet urging her with his stare. In the hand she then lowers to her chest, barely pulling her robe apart over her chest, softly caressing the skin he so cherished last night. And the tip of her tongue testing the rawness around her mouth, from the day-old stubble she’s raved about at three am as he worked happily between her thighs. 

“Fuck,” she mumbles as her eyes glaze over, his hand just barely tugging hers before she’s walking herself back to him.

At first she stands, barely needing to bend down to capture his lips with hers. She tugs, lightly bitting down and taking him by surprise, as it’s become their habit. Then smooths it down with her tongue, her hands working her way through his hair back to the nape of his neck, pricking his skin in her wake.

Before long he’s so lost in her touch, in her tenderness and strength all in one –something she so perfectly embodies– that he forgets how to breathe. A good deep intake and he pulls her back in, relentless and unforgiving of her rush.

He hums in false agreement to her breathy “I _really_ should go,” once they part for another moment. Then proceeds to lower his hands around her waist again, pressing her closer, closer still, until an unintelligible ‘ _fuck it_ ’leaves her lips and she gives up completely.

She lowers herself the last stretch needed onto his lap, her knees landing next to his hips on the bed. The hands on his neck now pulling and bringing him as close as possible, her lips devouring his with abandon. His hold on her hips tightens as she’s nudged against him, over and over until she moans against his mouth.

Tearing her lips away she breathes deeply and tries to clear her head, Oliver taking the in and lowering his lips down the column of her neck, nipping and kissing his way to the top of her breasts. The robe has loosened further with their efforts, so he easily nudges it away, mouthing his affection over tender skin as her hands rake over his hair again.

“ _Oliver_ ,” she breathes, panting, holding him tightly, the gentle sway of her hips beckoning him closer still. Her knees slide forward, her shape perfectly molding to this.

By now the robe is but a tangle of cloth between them, just a sleeve hanging on, as the purpose of their initial goodbye lays forgotten.

His hands have barely reached her ass when a shrill breaks the tension, tearing the moment from them.

“Felicity–” he begins to object, face pressed against her collarbone, breathing her in, when her hand reaches out behind them, blindly grabbing her cellphone on the nightstand and plunging them into silence again.

“Ugh. I need to go.”

“Seriously?” He shamelessly sounds utterly desperate, his hands cocooning her to him. She laughs, that gentle, vibrant sound that helps him breathe a little easier most days. Then lays her head over his, where he remains softly worshiping her neck. Her hands now cradling his head, fingers soothing with their touch instead of gripping with passion. 

“Yes, grumpy-pants. You need to share.”

He’s smiling against her skin now, alight with her playfulness that has grown to be his own with time, and relents his touch. Effortlessly, she stands back, wonderfully disheveled once again yet emoting such tranquility and ease.

And so the babbling picks up too, as the robe unceremoniously falls to the ground, leaving the inches of still covered skin perfectly free. She goes around the room once more, less hesitant than before –he notices happily– picking her stuff up from last night. 

He smiles at the fact it’s all scattered around, even in the hallway, recalling how they’d teared at each other’s clothes last night, desperately wanting, needing to be a them. After so long of refraining themselves, the frenzy of their lust still reigned their encounters more often than not. 

It isn’t until she’s pulling on her jeans that his minds catches up to what exactly she’s talking about now, and her nerves around it. “Your mom? She’s in town?”

“Yes,” she breathes almost exasperated. Confusion fills him, for as much as they’ve shared about themselves, her mother still remains a very vague subject. “Which is why I _can’t_  skip brunch. I love her, she’s my mom. She’s just intense and a bit too much on a normal day.”

“You’ll be okay. She’s your mom,” he reassures her, because he can’t fathom something Felicity can’t conquer, let alone someone that is probably as wrapped around her finger as he is. 

She huffs a half-hearted ‘yeah’ as she clasps her bra on –a fitted white lacey thing he’d barely got to appreciate last night.

“Yes, and…” he starts, his hand sneakily circling her wrist and leading her back to him. Her pout morphs into a smile as she follows through, her knees once again edging his where he remains seated. “If you need an out,” Oliver offers softly, warm palms reaching her hipbones, thumbs reverently caressing inwards. She smoothly follows his lead and slides down back to his lap, her worn-out jeans doing little to ease the thrill. And, edging closer and closer still, he breathes out a “give me a call” that sets them off again.

His lips work over hers vigorously, the warmth that is them reigniting from the embers that rarely ever really die down completely. His hands explore the slopes of her back, taking in every part of her as if it were still the very first day. He doesn’t see that changing anytime soon.

And, as much as she’s falling into him too, raking and pressing and swivelling down again, the rush of words doesn’t take long to come through. First it’s a messy jumble of sounds into his mouth, until she leans back and with a raspy voice whispers “my mother would _love_ that,” effectively turning the heat between them into a chuckling embrace.

“Seriously, she’d squeal me deaf,” she jokes –he thinks–, between kisses to his jaw and patting down his hair to a next to normal look.

“You really have to go then,” Oliver breathes, but with a smile now upon his lips. For he’s got an armful of half-dressed Felicity on his lap, wild unruly hair damp against his shoulder, her careful touch whispering of a tomorrow, and many more shared moments like this.

“I do,” she mumbles against his skin, her tone betraying how reluctant she is to leave, in spite of her need to live outside this them too.

So, as he’s grown to love to be with her, he smiles for tomorrow, and offers a “rain-check?” that makes her head stick out from the crook where his shoulder meets his neck and grin softly at him. A sweet kiss to tender lips followed by a melodious “yes” warms something deep in his chest that lately beats solely for her.

And so she lifts from his hold at last, her hands gracing his face to the very last moment possible, their eyes speaking of what’s to come –in every possible way, making him that much happier–.

He’s back lost in thought about a them he didn’t think he could be a part of when, in between pulling her shirt fully on, she wonders aloud:

“Oliver?”

“Yes?” His voice is tender, as warm as the air that prevailed in this room together is.

“Your sister didn’t happen to bring a hairdryer too?”

His laughter bubbles up again and echoes around a place that hardly ever filled with true joy before her. And she joins him once more, breathing life into such a void, he can’t help but marble at what his life’s become. And whatever will come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!_  
>  This came about from a prompt on tumblr, from my bud lucyyh, who requested olicity + sitting on someone's lap. This scenario came in mind and, for the life of me, idk why it just simply worked itself out to be this universe's version of olicity.  
> So I decided to post it as a glimpse of their future, instead of stubbornly waiting until my brain complies to write what comes in between. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!  
> (btw I’m aware this is in present tense, while the other chapters are in past, but it’s how it came out and in my overjoyed state over having written something I’m glancing past that. This is further down the line after all, maybe that’s their present?)  
> Anyway, as usual, pretty please show this some love! The excitement and suggestions I've gotten already have been so helpful and encouraging :)  
> xo, Lucy


End file.
